


We All Fall Down

by DanelleSepthon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amputation, Battle, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gore, Healling, M/M, Medical Terminology, Nation against Nation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Painfully Gorey Actually, Prison, Rape Aftermath, Russians, Uncomplete, War, World War 3, from fanfiction.net, old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanelleSepthon/pseuds/DanelleSepthon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the never ending chaos of war, a hero falls. America is captured by the Russian army along with his twin, Canada, and several other nations. They are striped of they're titles as nations and their self worth."</p><p>(This is a fic taken from my account on Fanfiction that I decided to transfer here. It is incomplete for now, but may be finished if demand is great enough.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1: Parts 1-2

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [We All Fall Down](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/179654) by DanelleSepthon. 



… _ **Act 1: Captured**_ **…**

_If you can accept losing, you can't win._

_Vince Lombardi_

… _ **Part 1 Invasion**_ **…**

 

_Breaking news!_

America sighed, tiredly. Was it really news anymore, let alone 'breaking'?

_The Russian troops have further advanced their forces into Canada, and appear to be setting their sights on the capital, Ottawa._

That had his attention, though America really wasn't too surprised, to be honest. Russia had gone against the normal 'World War' tactics of starting the invasion with the nations nearest to him. Instead, the Russian had chosen to begin his assault on the America's, namely North America.

_After the siege of Mexico and South America, the Russian forces had turned their attack to our nation and the Canadian front. Currently, the Russian's have taken control of most of northern Canada, and have taken Hawaii and Alaska._

America couldn't help but run a hand over his arm and shoulder. It still ached badly, as he felt like it was on fire. America still had his hands, but moving his left arm itself caused so much intense pain, his boss himself was making America move as little as possible.

_Wait- I'm getting reports that the enemy forces have begun a brutal attack on Ottawa. Our sources are telling us that there is little hope of a Canadian victory._

The nation bit his lip. Poor Canada… Why would Russia go after him? America sighed and looked at his hand. Russia was going down for what he did to America's brother. No one messes with North America.

_We're getting word that it is the Estonian army, under Russian control, that is attacking the capital._

Hm… America paused, If it's Estonia Canada's up against, then the other Baltic's need to be nearby. I know that Latvia was in Mexico, so that leaves Lithuania. Poor guy, none of those three want to do what Russia is making them do, but what choose do they have? If they disobey, their doomed to the fate of total control, like it seemed Canada was under at that moment. Capture hurt a lot, as America understood, it was supposed to feel like being ripped in two, or having your head crushed against a rock and a hard place.

The American's heart faltered a little at what his twin must be feeling right now; it horrified him how he could actually imagine the quiet Canadian screaming and begging for mercy from his captors as they dragged him off to who knows where. But, he couldn't allow himself to hesitate long. More lives were at stake than just his brother's.

America was currently with the president and his family, as well as several fairly burly, serious CIA agents, in a secret underground bunker.

Frankly, it had to be serious if _America_ himself was forced in to the same bunker as the president. Even during the most disastrous times, the nation always managed to get out of what he called _self-imprisonment_ easily, but this time, they actually had him _dragged in_ to the small room by _very big men._ Hell, they even had him _drugged_.

He didn't have any hard feelings, though. America's boss was just doing the best for his nation; after all, the president wasn't in any danger, it was America that needed protection.

Russia seemed to enjoy taking trophies of his victory, mainly in the form of personifications. Thankfully, France and Britain reacted quickly and were able to evacuate most country's away from the Russian invasion and Turkey managed to get some as well (he would never admit he actually was a little worried about Greece), but they were unable to save some. As far as America knew, almost every European nation, except for Belgium who somehow managed to remain neutral despite the Netherlands being invaded, had some part of it taken over.

But, sadly, no one thought Russia would send troops directly over to the Americas. Because of it, South America, Africa, and Mexico barely stood a chance and they were all now 'one with Mother Russia'. Russia was allowing the personations of the captured nations to stay in their homes, but they were made servants to his generals and underlings, but at least they weren't hurt that much. Sadly, Russia had declared earlier that such measures with the rest of the nations would not be taken, as they had no plans to place any major leaders in North America or the remainder of Europe and Asia. Instead Russia wished to gain them as something like colonies ( _god he did_ not _want to be a colony again…)_ and he was gathering the rest in Moscow, where they are being 'educated' on their place in the Russian empire, and their people were all herded off to other already occupied countries or were governed by a nearby nation. Either way, the life of Russia's occupied countries was a truly horroible thing.

Just as America's brother would soon be learning.

_We are receiving information that Ottawa invasion has just ceased, but it is not clear who the victor is._

"Mr. America?" he turned away from the TV screen as felt a small tug on his sleeve, "Why are you crying?"

The nation smiled as he wiped his eyes and looked down to the president's youngest son, "It's nothing, bud. Don't worry, everything will be alright."

The boy smiled and climbed back into his mother's lap. America sighed as she lifted him up into her arms and rocked him. The eldest son stood on the side, quiet as normal, watching his family. The president of the United States sat beside them on the couch, with a hand on his wife's back.

"He's right," the president smiled, "Everything is going to be fine."

America turned back to the TV, knowing what his boss assured was directed towards him instead of the first family. He and his entire nation, as well as the first family, knew exactly what was going to happen the second Canada was under Russian control. Regardless of how much he didn't want to think about it, but they were next.

_Wait, word from the Canadian government is coming in that…_

America held his breath.

_Canada has surrendered to the Russian forces. I repeat, we have lost Canada._

The nations barely even felt himself fall back into his seat. America bit his lip and shakily pushed his glasses back on his face.

"America?" he felt a hand on his shoulder, "You're going to be okay, alright. When I took this office, I vowed to do what was best for you and your people. You'll make it through this." The blonde nation turned again to be met by his president gently squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "Even if we are invaded, I won't let them win. In the end, we will have success."

America smiled sadly, "I hope your right boss. For everyone's sake, we have to win."

"Agreed," the president agreed.

The nation and his leader stood still for a moment, "They won't waste anytime attacking me, you know that right?"

The president nodded, "I know, we're ready to defend you at all costs-"

"No," America shook his head. "Surrender."

"What?" his boss step back wide eyed, "Are you insane? Their weakened, we'll have a much better chance!"

"No. We won't," the nation sighed. "I've been here a while, I know what will happen. I'm no idiot, it's just easier to be act way, Mr. President. Over the course of my life, I've attended Harvard, Stanford, Yale, and several other colleges respectively. I've seen almost every national crisis in its fullness as long as I have existed. I may not be the smartest country in the world, but I can say I'm on the list at least. I know Russia well. He doesn't stop when he gets going. The second he gets Canada under his control out right, Russia is gonna be right on our asses. As you know, he sent the Baltics over here to capture us. My guess is Lithuania is coming after me, as they haven't used them yet. Even though they are rather… small, with Russia's forces mixed in with theirs, they stand a fairly good chance. Since we are weakened by the attacks on Hawaii and Alaska, they'd slaughter us," America sighed and put a hand to his forehead, "I don't want more soldiers dead, ours our otherwise."

The president sighed and took his countries hand, "When I took this job, I never really understood just how powerful our spirit was, but now I see," he laughed and clapped his nation on the back, "America, you got balls."

" _Honey!"_ the first lady growled, "The kids!"

"Sorry, sweetie," he shrugged, "I'm trying to give our nation an uplifting speech."

She rolled her eyes, "Still, tone it down."

The nation laughed, but the moment was short lived as an intense pain reached his head, "Argh!"

The armed guards quickly made to go to him, but the TV interrupted.

_W-We just received news that enemy troops are already advancing quickly over the border, and into American land._

The president's youngest son started to cry at all the sudden noise, and he wouldn't stop even with his mother's shushing.

_We are awaiting word from the President on what will happen next._

"Do it," America whispered, "Please, surrender."

He hesitated, but he understood. The nation was right; they needed to save lives.

"Alright," he sighed, "How exactly do we go about doing this? I don't we've ever done something like this before."

The nation laughed, though he quickly grabbed his head in pain, "Yeah, I can't remember it happening either. But you need to officially announce it to the media, and I'm sure your advisors can explain the technical stuff," he muffled a scream of pain then went on, "I need to give my self up to Russia's troops."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

The nation chuckled, "Yes, but I have a request."

His leader nodded, "Of course."

"Take our nukes somewhere they can't damage anything, and blow them up while I'm turning my in."

The president sighed, "Why?"

"W-We can't give them any more strength," America gritted his teeth.

"Right," he nodded, "I'll do that, America, don't worry."

The nation struggled to his feet and looked to the door, "Can I ask o-one more thing? It's a bit more personal."

"What?" the president asked.

America took off his jacket with pain and tossed it to him, "Can you take that to… to my b-brother if you see him?"

"Brother?" he questioned, confused.

The nation laughed, "Don't tell him, but the personification of B-Britain. H-He's gonna be w-worried beyond his wits when he hears, even if he's gonna deny it," America smiled, "Can you do that much?"

The president nodded, "Sure, just stay safe."

America laughed and waved off the guards, who all just let him out. The nation just walked straight out, all of the guards well aware of the situation. As he passed, some of the men patted him on the back, a few were actually crying, and even more saluted him. When he reached the exit, he slowly opened the door with pain, as his arm still ached from losing his states, America was greeted by a familiar face.

"Hello, Lithuania," he struggled to smile, "You look well."

The other nation sighed, "Your surrendering then? So soon?"

"I don't wanna lose to many lives," the blonde chuckled, "Lost too many already."

Lithuania smiled and put out a hand to him, "Come on. I can't say this is going to get any easier, but at least I can get you to your brother."

America took the hand as a large army van drove up, bearing the Russian flag, "So this is it," he laughed, "Never thought I'd bring myself down this low."

"Listen," he said as he led the other nation to the back of the van, "I need to explain some things to you quickly, we don't have much time. Are you listening?" America nodded, "Good, Russia has come up with some rules for his captured nations, I-I don't understand them, but I need to enforce them. You can't refer to yourself or any other captured nations as _nations_ , you need to use a human name. As far as I know, Russia doesn't care what name you call yourself, you just can't call yourself America."

The American scoffed, "That makes no sense, but okay." Some soldiers quickly came out of the van. They started to search the American nation, quickly stripping him of his many, many guns, knives, and such weapons, as well as his shoes, tie, dress shirt, and belt, leaving him in his pants and his under shirt.

"The rest is just the normal stuff," Lithuania pressed on, ignoring the soldiers, "Just don't argue and you should be safe from Russia, okay?"

The blonde nation nodded awkwardly as Lithuania opened the back of the van, "Good, but, please be safe."

"Course!" America struggled to laugh as a soldier grabbed his bad arm and was forcing him in the back, "How can I not, I am the hero~"

Lithuania laughed as he was shoved in the van, "Of course, Mr. America. I hope you are."

 

… _ **Part 2: Reunion**_ **…**

" _Give up trying to make me give up"_

― _Masashi Kishimoto_

…

The blonde nation landed on his face in the van, "Ow…" he whined, "Okay, that hurt…"

"A-Are you okay?" a quiet, pained voice whispered.

America looked up towards the voice, "C-Canada, bro?"

The northern nation flinched at his name, "Y-Yeah…"

America quickly leaped to his feet and examined his twin as the van went into motion. Canada wasn't much better off than America, if not worse. It looked like his right arm was broken and he had plenty of scars all over him. America quickly stripped off his undershirt and fashioned a makeshift sling for his arm, "Woah, dude, what happened?"

The Canadian shrugged uncomfortably, "I-It's no big deal. One of the soldiers got me in the arm when I fought back before we surrendered."

His brother smiled, "That's amazing bro! I can't believe that!"

"It's not that cool," Canada chuckled as he fixed his arm in the sling, noticing how the fabric seemed to smell of cheese burgers and greese, though he made no comment, "Did Lithuania tell you what Russia's making the nations do?"

America nodded, "I can't understand why he wants us to change our names, but it isn't like we have a choice."

"Yeah," the Canadian said, "How do we do this?"

"Picking names?" his brother questioned as he sat beside Canada and put an arm around his shoulders.

"It can't be that hard," Canada mused, "I-I mean, humans do it all the time."

America laughed quietly, "Yeah, bro, but don't humans name their kids, not themselves?"

"Hm, your right," the other nation said, "Since we really have no choice, why don't we name each other."

The van then hit a large bump, sending both to the ground. America moved quickly so that his twin wouldn't land on his broken arm, rather finding it better for him to land on America, "You okay?" he asked, helping the other up.

"Uh huh," Canada rubbed his bad arm gently as he sat down again, "Anyway, I-I don't wanna forget anything that happened outside of where we're going, so I think our names should be reminiscent of our pasts."

"I agree!" America smiled, "I think you should be… Mattieu. That's French right?" Canada nodded, "Then Mattie it is!"

'Mattie' sweatdropped, "Well then, if you want to do it that way, then you're Alfred."

"Why," 'Alfred' asked, confused.

"Cause it's the first English name I can think of," Mattieu smiled, painfully.

The American didn't argue, but it was clear that he was unhappy, "Fine, bro. But know I'm only agreeing cause heroes don't argue with the wounded."

"Think about like this," he laughed."Maybe this way, if we're captured for a long amount of time, it's a way to remember them."

"Yeah," Alfred sighed, "But eyebrows like that are hard to forget."

"And no one can forget that laugh," Matt smiled, " _Honhonhon~!"_

Alfred laughed sadly, "You sound just like that frog."

He smiled as they hit another bump. This time, they were a little more prepared and they managed to stay on the seat.

"Do you think we're going to be okay?" Alfred questioned, almost fearfully.

Mattie smiled, "I think so. It's not like the odds have pulled us down before. We just need to endure."

"And one other thing," Alfred smiled.

"What?"

"We need pray those idiots can save our asses."


	2. Parts 3-4

… _ **.**_ _Part 3: Humiliated_ _**….** _

_It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings._

_Mahatma Gandhi_

… _ **.….**_

"Wake up."

Alfred shifted silently, feeling a rough hand grab his shoulder.

"I said, wake up!"

He heard a different voice that time, and a muffled cry of pain. At that he shot up from his seat.

Two soldiers in Russian uniform were in the back of the van. The larger of the two had a firm hold on Alfred's shoulder and was mercilessly shaking the American. But the other was he his main worry, "Let go of him!"

Alfred jumped up and went to grab his brother's attacker, but his own soldier grabbed his arm and pulled him back into a headlock.

"If you resist, we will be forced to psychically detain you," the large man said in an emotionless monotone.

The American wasn't listening, instead he was going over his brother injuries mentally.

Matt was forcing himself to stand up from the cold, metal floor, and the soldier screaming at him to move helped nothing. Alfred's sling had fallen off, and the broken arm was at by his side in an unnatural (and probably painful) position. The Canadian's face hit the ground hard by the angry red marks on his face and the crack in his glasses.

"Just let me help him!" Alfred practically screamed as he struggled, "He can't stand on his own, can't you see that?"

The solider looked to the other and they released Alfred and moved to the door, "Hurry up and stand," the one that kicked Matt barked.

Alfred had some rather choice words for them, but bit his tongue and pulled his twin up gently by slipping under his armpit and "Hold on, Mattie."

"I'm alright," Matt whispered, leaning against Alfred, "It just hurts a bit."

"That's the exaggeration of the year," he mumbled, helping the other go forward as the soldiers led them out in a hurry, "Come on, there's a step."

They carefully jumped down from the van, and were startled by the bright light of an army base. The Russian flag flew proudly in the cold wind, billowing intimidatingly. By the way Mattieu tensed as they hit the snowy ground, Alfred guessed they were in northern Canada. It made sense; the colder area was more homey to the Russians than anywhere else in North America, making it an ideal base. Still, it had to be killing the Canadian that he was being held captive in his own homeland.

"Move it, comrades, we need to get the pigs in the cage before sunrise," a rough, clearly Russian voice barked orders authoritatively. The guards each slammed a hand one the brother's backs, shoving them forward every so often in the correct direction.

Every time the hand came in contact with Matt's back, the guard hit him directly on his shoulder, making the Canadian wince and instinctively grab his injured arm. Alfred slouched a little bit and pulled his twin's arm back up over his shoulder whenever he felt the other slipping.

"Do you _have_ to do that?" Alfred growled as his brother whimpered slightly. He was given an answer through a blunt slap across face and one of the guard pushing his face into the dirt. Matt screamed his name as the other guard held him back roughly.

"You have no say here, boy," the guard growled, cruelly pushing him harder down onto the gravel, "Worry about yourself first, and you may just survive." With one last slap, the guard stood and pulled Alfred up with him. He motioned to the other to give Matt back to his brother.

The Canadian worriedly looked at his twin, but Alfred simply shrugged him off and once again pulled his arm back over his shoulder, "It's no big deal, Mattie," he whispered, "I'm fine."

The soldiers continued pushing the brother's to the main army base.

The base itself didn't suit the purpose as much as it's surroundings; in fact, it appeared to be mainly a school or college. The base itself was made up of three close buildings surrounded by a tall chain link fence and separated by a road in the middle. The area was well lit by telephone poles that had been reverted into spot lights. It appeared to have once been a fairly well travelled street, as the paint on the asphalt was worn and there was cracks and gravel along the edges of the road. The main building, the one that the brothers were being led to, was shaped like an L, with one long wing pointing out toward the road, and a more square one that Alfred quickly identified as once being some form of gymnasium at one point. The two other buildings on the other side of the road didn't appear to be part of the campus. It almost made the American laugh to see Russian troops walking in and out of a Tim Horton's till he remembered why they were there. The other building looked to be a civilian home taken over by troops. From their brief glance at the house, he saw that there were still even some toys and such in the front yard and a Canadian flag that was probably yet to be removed lay forgotten on the ground. Alfred could practically feel his brother's sadness for the family as they passed the forgotten mark of the country.

"Get a move on!" an irritated soldier pushed them again, this time managing to land them both on the cold ground. They landed side by side in the grass in front of the home, directly by the tattered flag, "Get up!" the man barked.

Alfred was on his knees first, helping his brother to his feet. The Canadian lingered for a second on the ground, clutching the grass for a moment, till he stood shakily with his injured arm hovering around his side. Alfred put his arm over his shoulder again and they went on. The American made no comment on how the flag they landed on was no longer there, but the guards didn't even notice.

The soldiers led the brother's past the home and brought them up to the school's entrance. The entrance was standard for schools; glass door, small inner hall, buzzer. Of course, most schools didn't have armed guards, but that was beside the point.

One of the men opened the door and the other stood behind them and as the two walked into the glass room. The guard closed the outside door and buzzed in (apparently school security was good enough for Russians), then led the two nations in side.

Alfred peeked in to some of the once classrooms as they passed by, but all he really saw was soldiers quarters and supplies.

After about a half an hour of walking the halls, they came to what was once probably a principal's office. They were told to sit down on a bench outside the office, like two boys being sent to the principal's office. Except for the armed guards, it was basically the same feeling, "Wait here," a soldier ordered before he went into the office.

The American didn't move his arm from his brother while they waited. The Canadian sighed and cradled his broken arm against his chest, "You're bleeding," he whispered, even quieter than normal if that was even possible, "And your glasses are broken."

"Yeah, I figured," Alfred smiled, "No big deal for the hero~!"

Matt looked at him and ran a hand over the scratches on his cheek. The Canadian smiled back at him through his own cracked glasses, "When this is all over, allow me the honor of replacing them, no arguments."

Alfred didn't even have time to argue about his brother's offer as the soldier stepped out of the office, followed by a man they took as a general.

"Greetings, North Americans," the man said bluntly as he stood before the two countries, 'I am Commander J. Smirnov, I am in charge of this base and I expect you and your people to do as we say. We are under orders not to kill you, but know that you will be punished without mercy should you choose to this obey. Am I making myself clear?"

"As day light," Alfred flashed his famous thousand watt smile. His cocky grin was met with a closed handed blow to his already bleeding cheek.

"I will tell you two something very important, boys," the commander growled, "This base is to become the main holding center for people like you. Tomorrow, we will be receiving more prisoners, and we have orders to keep them scared. If you keep up that attitude, boy, you will make a fine example as you fall under the might of mother Russia."

The commander moved his eyes from the American to his brother, "You are the one who was called Canada, da?"

The Canadian flinched, "Y-Yes."

"Your land is beautiful and suits our cause well," he said, "It will be even more amazing as our headquarters, though I doubt you agree," Smirnov moved a hand to run over Matt's injured arm, causing quiet squeak from him and a growl from his brother, "Your arm is very damaged, but I may not offer either of you any medicine till after the little show."

The last comment left them confused, but then, suddenly, they found two soldiers holding hand cuffs behind them.

"Let go!" Alfred fought back before he has kicked in the stomach hard enough to make him stop for a moment.

"I must announce to the world our victory, da?" Smirnov shrugged as he turned to his men, "Prepare the camera and these two as I explained earlier."

The men grabbed the North America twins and dragged them by their feet into the office in a rather humiliating fashion. They were harshly tossed against a wall, and before Alfred could take in the room, and blind fold was a tossed around his eyes, "Adds to the effect," someone with horrible breath whispered cruelly in his ear, "Make it much more enjoyable, da?"

From the whimpers he heard beside him, Alfred figured that his brother was in a similar fix, but he had no time to stop it, "Start filming, I want to begin," he heard Smirnov say, "Are we rolling? Good, then we shall begin."

Alfred heard footsteps and figured he was directly in front of him, "Greetings Europeans," he heard the commander say to a camera, "I am Commander J. Smirnov of the Russian Front, currently located in the country once known as Canada. I have been asked by my betters to take on the task of showing you what happens when you disobey my people," suddenly, Alfred felt a firm hand around his neck, lifting him up off the ground and cutting off his air supply, "This fool believed at one point that he and his people could defeat mother Russia, and he may have done so at one point, but by the power of my nation, we have forced even the once great Americas to their knees!"

The Russian commander laughed as he threw Alfred against the wall. As the American caught his breathe, he felt his brother next to him, struggling to help him, despite his own bonds. He heard a yell, figuring Smirnov had taken his brother into a choke hold this time, "And this one," the commander's voice boomed, "Is exactly what you don't want to become, Europeans. Is giving aid to a losing side really worth your lives? Surrender peacefully, and this will not happen to you."

Alfred heard the sound of his twin slamming down next to him, "Now, comrades," he heard the commander say before he could even react, "Show the Europeans what happens to our enemies."

The American was quickly flipped over as he felt rough hands pressing him down against something hard (a chair he guessed). He heard a brief sound behind him of something sizzling, then he felt an intense heat on his shoulder as red hot brand was pressed into his skin.

Alfred couldn't help but hold back a scream as the brand burned his flesh. For a few long moments, he could hear nothing as his senses dulled, but as his wits returned, he found himself panting as he was thrown from the chair and the blind fold was removed. A solider grabbed him by the arm and made him look forward.

The American watched in horror and disgust as his twin was tied to the chair as well, a different brand being lifted to skin. He heard Matt scream only once as the brand hit his shoulder before he slumped down. When the soldiers cut the binds holding the Canadian to the chair, he fell to the ground, arm landing in an unnatural position.

The solider holding Alfred let go, and the nation crashed to the ground. At the moment, he forgot about the camera recording his movements and called out his twins real, nation name. The second he uttered it, Alfred felt a boot land directly on the searing burn on his back, "Traitors to mother Russia are less than human, and far less than countries!" the commander said as he kicked him over and over again.

Alfred curled into a ball on the ground, putting his arms over his head as the kicks flew in, as he felt something he had almost never felt before; complete humiliation. He felt so weak that he was being brought to his knees by a mere human, and he was unable to help his brother. Worse, they had it all on video. Alfred knew all the remaining free parts of Europe would be horrified when they saw it, but he didn't want to feel pity. He was the hero, heroes didn't need pity!

Still, when the kicks finally stopped and the American felt his body being lifted again to show off to the camera, he managed to open one eye that wasn't swollen shut, and give a thousand watt, Hollywood smile to the people he knew would be watching and did what he did best.

 

… _ **.**_ _Part 4: Keep a Stiff Upper Lip_ _**….** _

" _If you are going through hell, keep going."_

― _Winston Churchill_

… _ **.….**_

England bite his lip as he saw the bloody head turn towards the camera and smile that oh so bright smile.

" _If you don't get here soon, I may just need a little back up~!"_

The flat attempt at a joke fell short as the island nation watched his ex-colony be beaten again before his eyes.

"Why do you keep watching this, Angleterre?" the hand of a certain Frenchman touched his shoulder, "I understand your worries, they have my frérot as well, if you have forgotten. But forcing ourselves to scour over their torture will do them no good, mon ami."

"Shut up," the Brit pushed him away, "I need to see if I can find out where exactly in Canada's land they are. If we know that much, not only can we free them, but the prisoners they're sending there."

France sighed, "That's right, I forgot they took Sealand too."

England clenched his fists, "This isn't just about the boys France! It's about the world!"

"Oui," France nodded grimly, sitting beside England and taking the laptop off of his lap, "We have managed to evacuate most of the personifications, but we unable to get some away."

"Sealand," England covered his face, "Austria, Hungary, South Italy, our boys; they're all in danger because I was to slow."

"Non!" France stopped him, removing his hands from his face, " _We_ were too late. _We_ not _you_. And it is more my fault than yours! I'm the one who told Russia he was a fat ass, right?" the Briton chuckled and nodded, "See? I deserve much more of the fault than you! Maybe you should punish me with some of those handcuffs I know you have with that bobby uniform you have, non~?"

England sighed and leaned back on his couch, "Please remind me again why my home has become our base of operations?"

"Because you stubborn, giant eye browed Brits managed to stopped your invasion in Cornwall," the Frenchman chuckled, "Making your little island the safest place to be for now."

The shorter blonde sighed and just took his laptop back, "I still can't wait till this is all over and I you all can get the fuck off my little island."

"Trust me, mon ami, you aren't the only one," France moaned as he dramatically posed, "Your food is horrible, I don't know why you won't let me cook."

"Because I like my kitchen to be a perv-free zone," he glared.

France pouted, "You wound me, Angleterre. I am a flirt, no more, no less."

"Sure…" the Brit sighed as he started to replay the video of America and Canada's torture.

France watched silently along with him, "How can you do it, mon ami?"

"Do what?" England barely even turned as he spoke.

France reach over and paused the video right when Canada was about to be branded. He reached two fingers to the screen and briefly touched the image of his little brother's head like he could actually offer some form of comfort, "How can you work so hard when you are so afraid for them. Don't even try to hide it, I've know you since we were both fils together. You fear for your own frérot as much I do mine, if not more, yet you work as if it's nothing."

"Stiff upper lip," England replied crudely.

"Stiff upper lip?" he raised a well groomed eyebrow.

"Yes," the Brit sighed as he continued the video, "It means to preserve and not give up," he shrugged, "It's a British thing."

France chuckled, "Well, if our frère can be as strong as you are, then they may just have a chance."

"Humph," England smirked, "Though he may not act it much, America was raised an English gentleman and he has as much a stiff upper lip as me. As long as Canada stay with him, he will be fine, don't worry."

"My petit lapin is just as strong as your frère," France argued, "He was raised a fine Frenchman and he will be well off."

"Oh shut up, frog!" England pushed him aside, "I'm going to bed. If you need anything, it can wait till morning."

France laughed sadly as he watched his old friend leave, "Oui, Angleterre, keep your stiff upper lip for our boys, and I will keep mine. You can bring them home, and I will help you with all my strength, and together, we are nothing to laugh about, oui? Honhonhon~!"


	3. Parts 5-6

… _ **.** _ _Part 5: Moving_ _ **….** _

_No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected._

_Julius Caesar_

… _ **.….** _

Austria was very unhappy.

His fingers were a little numb from the lack of their normal use, he was very tired from having stayed awake for more than three nights, and he was in dire need of a shower. To add insult to injury, he wasn't even Austria anymore.

Roderich was the name he gave himself for this little adventure. Honestly, the Russian had to be losing his mind if he really thought changing their names would do much to him except make the Austrian even more pissed off.

He wanted to make music. Roderich wanted to feel the cold, smooth ivory keys on his piano, hear the crisp sound of a bow on strings, or even a simple harp would be fine. The silence was killing him; it felt unnatural in every aspect.

The pianist was startled as he felt warmth on his shoulder. Roderich turned a saw that Elizabeta (that was the name Hungary picked) had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her hair falling out of her bandanna. She had Austria's filthy jacket around her shoulders and her hand held his. The Austrian brushed her hair out of her face silently as he looked to the others.

Their small cell became cramped right at the beginning of the war, when Russia began taking everyone by surprise. First, he began an attack on the countries closest to him, as per normal, quickly taking most of the Baltics, Ukraine, and Belarus, but each of the country's officials were able to stop the take overs midway by agreeing to be Russia's allies. After that, Russia moved his sights on to Poland, Austria, and Hungary, as well as the Americas. They quickly captured Austria and Hungary, but the Lithuania government had been secretly assisting their neighbor's by sending soldiers as immigrants over the free waters of the Baltic Sea and making them appear to be have come from Sweden, who's country had been taken but the personification evacuated. While Russia had the rest of Europe distracted with Poland and South America, he quickly began an attack traveling down, capturing all the already evacuated land until he reached Greece, who was saved by a somewhat hesitant Turkey. That invasion ended when Germany became enraged by their attack on Italy and he pushed them into their occupied land in Austria. Somehow, though, Russia was able to gain the southern half of Italy while Germany preoccupied with the northern half.

The eldest of the Italian brothers was currently as far away from the others as he could get, huddled in a little ball and clutching his legs in his sleep. Roderich understood his discomfort; the invasion had left his leg sore and weak, and the bitter cold of their prison could not be helping him.

Lovino, as Southern Italy was to be called, turned over in his sleep and let an arm fall over the boy next to him.

As soon as South America fell and the North American invasion began, Russian forces began attacking France and England as well as Asia and Africa, though most of the personifications in immediate danger had been evacuated secretly to Australia, who had signed a nonaggression pact with Russia early on. When the attack on England began, the basically nonexistent country of Sealand was taken as a Russian fort, and its personification seized.

As soon as Peter, which he later came to be known as, was thrown into the cell, he seemed to latch on to Lovi. Roderich guessed that maybe the cold atmosphere of the Italian was similar enough to that of a certain Brit that Peter was able to feel comfortable with him or maybe he just needed someone to latch onto.

Regardless, the two weren't exactly a perfect pair, but Lovino treated just like he did his actual little brother; with taunting, cursing, and anything he could throw in absence of his tomatoes. Still, he would allow Peter to snuggle against him like a koala at night and the Italian would try his best to comfort the child as he called out for England to save him in his night terrors.

Tonight, though Roderich was glad to see both Lovi and Peter sleeping well as he stayed watch. From day one, Hungary had mentioned a fear of someone taking one of them away as they slept. Roderich bluntly dismissed this theory, but ever since, he would stay awake in the night and watch the door. Lovino would take shift every other day or if he woke early, so that the Austrian could have some well-deserved rest. That they had grown comfortable enough to sleep soundly in a place like this was rather sad, but it was a sweet, almost family-like picture.

"Rise and shine!" a deafening voice broke his thoughts and the others sleep, "You must wake up, now, or you will meet my stick!"

Roderich glared at the face of the personification of Russia, "What is it you want, Russia?"

"You do not address you betters in such a way," Russia smiled as he smacked Roderich in the face with his pipe, "You should know that by now."

"Just say what you came to say!" Lovino replied, groggily as he pushed Peter off of his chest, though the micronation stayed firm on his lap.

Russia smile, "I am sorry to inform you that you will no longer be staying with me in my homeland."

" _What?"_ Elizabeta asked shocked, "You letting us go?"

Russia slapped her, "A woman should not address a man unless she has permission. And no, my boss has just finished the North American take over, so those to annoying Americans are now one with Mother Russia."

Roderich's eyes widened. _He captured AMERICA?_ the Austrian thought rapidly, _Wait, he said Americans, meaning two. So he must have captured the other one… what was his name? It was Ca... Something like that, but he was America's twin, I know that much._

"We decided to move prisoners across the pond as the America's contain none of our enemies anymore, as they are all one with me," the Russian's grin widened as he spoke the horrible news.

Roderich felt Elizabeta go to get up, probably wanting to slug the man, but he held her down with difficulty, an act that thankfully went unnoticed by Russia.

"I will not be accompanying you to your new home," he smiled, "But one of my allies has agreed to go with you. I wish you safe journeys."

As the Russian left, Lovi stood and brought Peter up in his arms, "Who do you think is taking us?" he asked with venom, "Think he got Poland, by now? Or that jerk Britain, or my brother, or Spain!"

"Stop it, Romano!" Peter grabbed his tattered shirt.

"No, Peter!" Roderich chided as he stood and helped Elizabeta to her feet as well, "You can't call him that."

"He needs to stop thinking that way!" the little nation argued, "We can't think about them!"

Lovi looked down at him for a moment, and sighed, "They actually brought down the Americas…"

"It's tragic and horrible," Elizabeta said as his straighten her ripped skirt, "But this is war, and this _is_ Russia. Nothing is unexpected in a world war, you should know that Lovi."

The Italian nodded, as the door began to open, "If I head-butt who ever walks in that door, think I'll get shot?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Lithuania said as he entered the room, "But I'm unarmed."

"You really trust prisoners that much, Lithuania?" Hungary laughed, "I thought you were raised better."

The Baltic laughed back, "Yes, but I mean you no harm, and I hope you mean me no harm, old friends," he sighed, "And we are as captured as you are. The Baltics and Russia's sisters have adopted names like yours behind Russia's back as a sign of protest."

"Then what do we call you?" Austria raised an eyebrow.

"Toris," Lithuania smiled, "I quite like the feel of being a person instead of a country for a bit, despite our situation, it's a fair pleasure."

"Is this some kind of game to you?" Lovino raised an eyebrow, "You think there's anything _fun_ about this."

Toris put his hands out in deference, "You mistake my meaning," he smiled nervously, "I was rather hoping to lighten the mood before I crushed it."

"What could make this worse, now?" Roderich rolled his eyes, "Has Russia banned puppies, candy, and happiness?"

"No," Lithuania replied as he pulled some things from the many pockets in his army uniform, "I've been in contact with the free European nations. According to them, a few hours ago, they received a video tape from the prison camp we are sending you to. They said the that the man running the camp has been ordered to make the Americas into an… _example_ ," the Lithuanian said the word with such venom they were taken back, "Regardless, I need you to get this to them the second it's safe," he handed Elizabeta a fair amount of medicine, bandages, food, and water, "You need to all make it out alive. There's no question. We can't lose anyone. But if they fall, the world will go with them.

"As much as we all don't want to admit it," Toris went on, "America is needed, and so is Canada. Both of them, as well as the rest of the Americas, are major exports of basically everything from weapons to basic resources. They have always been there for us in the past, now it's our turn to lend them a hand, no?"

The Hungarian silently slipped the supplies into her dirty apron, "I'll do my best, but I'm not the best with medicine."

"I'm fairly skilled at it," Roderich straighten his bent glasses, "You and Italy used to get yourselves fair boughs of trouble in your youth."

Elizabeta smiled and kissed his cheek, "We should get going."

Toris smiled at them and led them to a small cargo plane. He shrugged an apology as the army pilot walked into the cockpit, "It's the only thing they would spare that could fit all of you. He opened the back door to reveal a large amount of various goods and supplies, but no seats, "I'd suggest holding on to something."

With that, the four nations huddled into cargo hold, Roderich and Lovino on the outsides trying to keep some of the cargo from hitting the others during takeoff, and the plane began its journey over the Atlantic, over to a whole new hell.

 

… _.Part 6: The Room…._

_No one knows what to say in the loser's locker room._

_Muhammad Ali_

… _.…._

It was about three A.M. when the cargo door opened again. The nations were greeted by the lovely face of a dozen Russian soldiers and their guns escorting them out. They saw no sign of Toris, though they figured he was already inside.

They reached the door quite quickly. They were buzzed in, escorted down the halls, and stopped at what looked like an office.

A man in a commander's uniform stepped out, and looked them over, "Welcome to hell," he smiled, "I am Commander J. Smirnov, and I am the devil."

Without another word, he waved them off, telling the soldiers to take them away. The men did so, grabbing them by the arms and leading them down a hall way. Soon, they came to a staircase, which they went down. It was all pipes and machines that Lovino took it as some kind of maintenance area.

They came to the end of the staircase and they only went a little farther till they came to a door. The door itself wasn't anything remarkable. It was steel of a medium thickness, and it had an old wooden door knob that looked like it really didn't belong. The troop obviously had added some more locks and bolts to it, making it in to a much better prison.

A man opened the door and quickly shoved them in, "Please excuse the mess! We figured you wouldn't mind!" The soldiers locked the door to the room

Lovino managed to have Peter land on his chest, though Roderich and Elizabeta were less lucky, landing of a few pipes. The room was like the rest of the lower floor; cold, mechanical, and old. It was a very large room, more like a storage room, but too large to be called a closet. There's was no windows, so the smell of oil, dirt, and copper wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. There really was nothing remarkable about the room; it was empty with the exception of several pipes, a few rags, and a dark pile in the corner…

"America!" Peter screamed, jumping from Lovi's arm and running over to the prone figure, quickly followed the by the others.

The brothers had been thrown to the ground quite roughly. America had obviously pull Canada onto his lap before passing out himself. They were both shirtless, revealing scratches and bruises, but the Italian knew they had other wounds because the coppery smell in the room just didn't match the cuts. He noticed the Canadian's arm looked rather… crooked. It was probably really broken, but that was to be an afterthought. They needed to find where the blood was coming from.

Roderich gently went to move Canada from his brother's lap, but a menacing growl hit him first, "Ah," the Austrian said sympathetically, "I see you're awake, America."

Tired, hesitant blue eyes meet his own, "Don't… touch… him…" the American panted, wincing slightly as his hand moved to his brother's.

"We need to look at his arm," Lovino said, not bothering to sound comforting, "You're both injured and you're dying. Let Roderich treat it."

"…who?" the American painfully cocked his head.

Lovino pointed to Austria, "That's Roderich, I'm Lovino. Jerk Britain's little micronation is Peter, and the ladies Elizabeta."

"A…Al…Alfred… and… M…Mat…Mathieu," he struggled as his mind finally registered who they were and allowed his body to relax. He and his twin were in good hands. Suddenly, Alfred just felt so tired.

"No, Alfred," Elizabeta kneeled down beside him as Roderich and Lovino eased Matt off of him, "You can't sleep yet. Wait a little while until we get you two patched up."

The American gave a sad weary sigh. He felt a small hand in his own, and looked down to see a small nation, "Hey little guy…"

"Please don't die," Peter whispered, "England would be so sad."

"Can you lean forward, Alfred?" Elizabeta asked, pulling bandages and medicine from her apron, "Lovino, get those rags from the ground, you need to make Mathieu a sling at least, and see if you can set that bone."

The American allowed himself to turn slightly to look at his twin lying next to him. Mathieu had passed out within seconds of the hot iron of the brand coming in with his already weak shoulder. When they were brought down to their new prison, Alfred had dragged them to a corner, held his brother to his chest, ignoring the pain and blood on his back.

Now, the Canadian just looked _dead_. He obviously wasn't dead, but Matt was pale as snow, his head hung limply as Roderich leaned him forward to see his back, and, even in his unconscious state, his face would flinch slightly when Lovino tried to examine the fracture on his arm.

"Alfred," Elizabeta breathed, gently running a hand over his back, "What did they do to you?"

Both of the brothers' backs were coated in blood and blisters, a strange, fresh burn gracing their backs in the same spot, "They branded them," Lovino said, as a fact instead of a question, as he looked at the symbol on Mathieu's back.

By dabbing away at the burns with a bit of Toris' antiseptic on a rag, they were able to stop the bleeding enough to see the brand. Just below each of their right shoulders, a thin-line, five pointed star with a tree inside it was burned into their flesh. Lovino took brief notice of the small "N" on the Canadian's back. The Italian guessed the American would have an 'S' in a similar style on his own back, probably representing the northern and southern countries.

"This will sting a little," Roderich warned as he turned to Alfred with the antiseptic, once he was done with his brother.

Alfred struggled to hold back his cries of pain as the medicine touched his ripped skin. He knew it was only to help him, but God it _hurt_. He bit his tongue to keep the screams back. Peter had been holding his hand earlier, but he had just jumped into Lovino's arms (which rather confused the American to see the normally cold Italian so open) and the British fort cried quietly into his shoulder. It made Alfred feel a little bad; this must be scaring the crap out of him, let alone scaring Peter for life. He hissed as the rag ran along his skin again, "I'm sorry, Alfred," he heard a voice say kindly to him, though he didn't exactly now who said it.

He could feel bandages going around his chest and a hand brushing the hair away from his face. Normally, the bubbly, attention whore that he was, he would be thrilled to have so much attention. But right now, he just wanted to sleep, but resting was quite hard to when the people around just kept telling you to stay awake. He was just. So. _Tired._

"We're almost done. Just hold on a bit longer, then you can rest," that time Alfred could tell it was Elizabeta by the gentle tone and a hand petting his hair. He said nothing, only nodded to her, as he heard a brief moan from his side.

"Ah…." Mathieu breathed out in a raspy voice, eyes still closed tightly behind his cracked glasses, "Al… Alfred?"

The room was still with shock that the Canadian could even speak with such painful injuries. Alfred, not the other hand, didn't hesitate. "I'm here, Mattie," the American whispered lightly, as he slowly put his hand in his brother's, with obvious effort, and gently rubbed small circles on top, "It's alright. We're gonna be okay, now."

The Canadian's eyes slowly opened, completely bloodshot. Roderich and Elizabeta sat down beside them, and Lovino sat down with a still slightly sniveling Peter on his lap.

"Lithuania told us what happened," Roderich said, "But we had no idea..."

"Its fine," Alfred interrupted, "I'm sure others have had worse." His brother just nodded slightly.

"When did they get you two?" Lovi questioned.

Alfred sighed, "About a day ago. Mattie earlier than me. How's his arm?"

"Its fine," the Canadian whispered.

"No, it isn't," Roderich sighed, "I'm pretty sure his forearm is fractured, and a small part of the bone looks like it's about to pierce through if we aren't careful. I didn't want to set it without him awake, in case anything went wrong," he gingerly moved the Canadian's arm to his lap, making Matt flinch a bit, "May I?"

Matt nodded slowly. Roderich took some bandages off of Elizabeta and the largest of the remaining rags, "This will hurt," Roderich warned as he gently gripped Matt's arm by the wrist and elbow.

"Just get it over with," Matt took a deep breath.

The Austrian looked at him sympathically, then snapped the bone back into place.

Mathieu screamed and threw his head back against the wall. He quickly regretted it as a headache hit him and he felt lightheaded.

Roderich quickly began to wrap the arm tightly, causing the throbbing discomfort to turn into a searing pain.

"Just take deep breathes, Mathieu," Elizabeta calmed, "Just breathe."

Roderich moved back a little after he tied the tight bandages before he eased the Canadian's head forward. He gently put the fabric around his neck, easing the arm into it, "Don't worry," he said as he made sure he didn't forget anything important, "The pain will fade eventually."

"We should get some rest," Lovino volunteered, "It's been a busy day. I'll take watch."

Elizabeta removed Roderich's jacket from her shoulders and emptied her apron. She took the larger fabrics and covered the twins carefully, "You can sleep now."

Mathieu was asleep within seconds, the pain finally getting to him. He settled himself against his brother's side, minding his arm and still holding his hand. Alfred moved his arm around him in an awkward hug leaning his chin against sandy hair. He too quickly fell asleep, with a new sense of security in the prison, though he knew, that this was a battle they would never win. But this was still a good start.


	4. Parts 7-8

… _.Part 7: Save Me…._

" _I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."_

― _Maya Angelou_

… _.…._

_The valley was freezing cold. Then again, the North was always freezing. The boy wrapped his fur coat tighter around himself._

_His coat was real seal pelt, with pretty red and white beads on it. The nice Eskimos who gave it him told him that he was special, so he needed a special coat. He wished he looked more like them (their tan skin, wise black eyes, and black hair fascinated him), but they didn't mind how different him looked. It made him happy._

_The boy looked out over the sea, trying to catch a glimpse of the men his people had been talking about. He had heard them speaking of strange men on huge, floating mountains coming over the waters. They had brought exotic goods to trade and gain the favor of his people, and they promised to return soon. The boy was warned to be careful around them, but he only wanted a peek at them, he wouldn't even talk to them._

_He sat down behind a tall oak tree and hid behind a low branch. The boy was only about four, so he could manage it quite well. He settled into his coat, and waited for the ships to come._

_It was almost five hours later that a glimpse of something reached his drowsy eyes._

_A large black mast slowly peeked over the horizon. The slim pole was quickly followed by a ship as it quickly came up towards the end of the water._

" _Terre!" he heard a strange voice call out from afar, "Nous avons attaint la terre!"_

_The ship gracefully came up to the small bay, stopped about a half a mile away, then put a few smaller boats in the water to come to shore._

_The little boy watched, intrigued, as white, light haired men stepped off the boats. They looked a lot like he did; long fair hair, pale skin. But their clothes were obviously not suited for the weather. They wore bright, vibrant colors, but they were thin and flowing. The boy gave them two days, and they'd be frozen._

" _Maintenant, Samuel," a rich, velvety voice sounded much louder than the others, " Où sont les gens étranges que vous avez parlé?"_

" _Ils sont quelque part par ici, monsieur!" an older voice called, "Nous avons juste besoin de regarder."_

_The little boy heard footsteps and crunching snow growing louder and louder, "Pensez-vous qu'il ya une nation?" the velvety voice said again as it headed towards the tree._

" _Peut-être," the older voice sounded. The young boy had no clue what they were saying, but he was fairly scared. He quickly climbed up the tree and hid amongst its branches. He heard the footsteps underneath the tree stop._

" _On dirait que quelqu'un était assis dans la neige," the older voice said. The boy held his breathe and peaked down slowly to catch a glimpse of an older man and a young man with flowing blonde hair._

" _Est-ce que quelqu'un ici?" the blond asked, looking around the area._

"I'm here, Papa…"

_The boy tried to hide further in the leaves, but he almost lost his hold the tree, and a small branch fell to the ground._

_The man turned around, "Honhonhon~!" he chuckled, "Donc, vous vous cachez de moi, non?"_

_His heart started going a mile per hour as he heard the man start to find the tree._

"Please save me, Papa…"

" _Oh, vous êtes un enfant," the blonde man said as he reached the branch the boy hid on, "Vous êtes un peu jeune pour grimper à un arbre comme ça."_

_The boy just settled further into the bark, unable to look away from the man, "Parlez-vous français?" the man asked him, smiling softly as he moved towards him carefully._

_He stared at him in horror, trying to move farther away, but his foot slipped and he felt himself falling to the ground._

"Papa…"

" _Woah!" the man jumped out and grabbed him, somehow managing to hang on to the boy and the tree._

"Save me, Papa…"

_The sudden movement scared the boy, making him cry, "Je vous suis!" the man said soothingly as he pulled him back into the tree, "Je vous suis! Vous êtes sûr, mon petit. Je vous suis…"_

" _France?" the older man called up into the tree, "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"_

" _Juste un petit garçon," he called down as he began to climb down, the boy in his arms, "Je pense qu'il est le représentant de cette nation."_

_The boy realized how horribly his plan had failed, and he began to struggle in the man's arms, "Let me go! Let me go!"_

_He man chuckled as the little boy hit the snow and hid behind the tree, "Oh! You speak anglais!" he knelt down and put a hand out to him, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is France, I'm your big brother. Who are you?"_

"Papa…"

" _I-I…" the little boy peaked out from the tree, despite his better senses, "I don't know."_

_The man smiled brightly, "My boss is calling you New France, but you are not me, mon petit, so I will call you…"_

"Papa…"

" _I will call you-"_

"Canada!"

The Canadian's eyes burst open, unable to see very well as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, "A-Alfred?"

"You were talking in your sleep, bro?" The American said, "Nightmare?"

"No," Matthew sighed, "Actually, it was… a pretty good dream."

Alfred squeezed his twin's good shoulder for a second, "Don't worry, bro! The hero will make sure you and your papa reunite!"

"I hope you do, Al…" Matt chuckled, "I really do…"

"Glad to see you boys are feeling a little better," Roderich said, gaining their attention from across the room, "But need to discuss something with you."

 

… _.Part 8: Democracy…._

_The spirit of democracy is not a mechanical thing to be adjusted by abolition of forms. It requires change of heart._

_ Mahatma Gandhi _

… _.._

"What is it Roderich?" Alfred turned, forcing his still stiff body to move a little.

The Austrian fixed his glasses, "Well, I figured that as we have some items and medicine that our captors may take away," he grabbed hold of a loss panel in the wall and pulled it away to reveal a small hole, "Lovino was able to make this last night while we were sleeping."

"I figured we needed somewhere to hide the medicine," the Italian shrugged.

Peter smiled at him, "It was an amazing idea, Lovi!" he laughed, making Lovino blush.

"We also hid some personal items in there," Elizabeta added, "Everything we had in our pockets, mostly."

"I wanted to know if you had anything you wanted saved," Roderich explained.

"Yeah," Alfred stretched and took off Texas, much to everyone's shock, "Don't be so surprised. My glasses are cracked already, but I don't need them to see, I'm far sighted. As long as I don't need to dodge any snipers, I should be fine."

The Austrian took the glasses from his hands and carefully laid the cracked glass in the hole, "Alright then-"

"Wait!" Matt sat up, "Take my glasses too, Alfred, for once, makes some sense. And… take this too…" Carefully, almost reverently, he pulled a tattered red and white Canadian flag out of his pocket, "I picked it up from the house out there. It was just lying in the yard, so I picked it up… I couldn't just leave it there…"

"It's alright," Roderich looked at him with pity as he took the flag and the glasses from the shaking hands and laid them on the , "If it was me, and that was my flag, I would have done the same thing. I think we all would have."

The Canadian smiled, "Thanks."

Alfred yawned, "So, any idea what's gonna happen today?"

"Alfred," Roderich sighed, "How in the world would we know what's going on?"

"Luck?" the American shrugged as the door opened with a slam.

Commander Smirnov's combat boots made a loud clanking sound as he stepped through the door before it was tightly bolted, "Good morning! You have all slept nice, da?" he waited a second as if waiting for a response, "Good! You will need your energies today."

"And why would that be?" Alfred questioned cockily. He was then meet by a foot in his gut.

Smirnov chuckled as he kicked him again, "You do not question your betters!" he leaned down and sneered in the American's face, "I like breaking the cocky ones; more of a challenge."

Alfred growled, but the commander covered his mouth, "You have fire in your eyes, boy," he laughed, "I'll enjoy quashing it."

"Don't touch him!" everyone turned in shock to Peter, who jumped up and started punching the man's legs.

"Peter, stop!" Lovino cried out in panic as he dived to get the small boy away.

The commander jumped at his chance, picked up the struggling micronation, and kicked Lovino in the face, "You won't be able to give as much information as this one," Smirnov commented, examining the angry little nation in his arms, "But you will make a nice little example to your friends and the public," he turned to the horrified others, "Know this, mother Russia is all powerful. We are unafraid of anything, and we will do whatever we must to anyone, even children," he knelt down through Peter out the door to a soldier.

He then grabbed Alfred by the face and made him look at him, "I will crush the fire in your eyes, and I will crush the hope in your little companions as well. You think that this is all some game, boy? For me, this is a game, but there are no heroes or villains in this game, only you and myself. Outside of here, you may have been great, but here, you _will_ fall. Have faith in that, boy."

Smirnov threw the American back roughly against the wall and spit on his face. The commander stood up and laughed before leaving.

The room was completely silent except for the bolting of the door, and Lovino's hard breathing as he looked to his hands, "…Peter…." The Italian whispered in shock, "…God, why?"

Elizabeta hastily knelt down beside him as Lovi started to shake a little, "It's alright," she whispered, "It's going to be fine."

"I almost had him…" Lovino whispered, "I almost had him…. I could have saved him…"

"No you couldn't have," Roderich sighed, "This is Peter we're talking about. He's as pigheaded as hell, he would never let you stop him."

"I had to try," he shook his head, "He's just a little kid…"

"Thank you, Lovi," all eyes turned to America, who was rubbing his head from where it came into contact with the wall.

The Italian looked at him questioningly, "What do you have to thank me for?"

"Peter is basically our brother just as much as he is England's," Matt explained, adjusting his sling a little, "Thank you for trying to help him."

"Don't mention it," Lovino leaned against the wall a little sadly, "We need to stick together, or we're all gonna be dead."

"I agree," Roderich nodded as he settled next to Elizabeta, "This isn't a one man fight."

Both nations of North America nodded.

"I say we need some democracy in its most basic form!" Alfred laughed, a little quieter than usual.

"For once," his brother sweatdropped, "You make a point."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at them, "Is this _really_ the time to be spreading democracy?"

"No," Alfred shrugged, "But the whole principal of democracy is that the people have a say in what happens to them."

"So," Matt said pointedly, "We establish goals that we all agree are our top priority. Then we focus our efforts on the most important of those goals."

"Our first goal is to all get out of this alive," Lovino said, instantly, "We protect each other, and we don't let anyone die."

"I like it," Elizabeta nodded, "And we remain equal, no matter what. No one gets more than another."

Roderich examined his finger nails, trying to appear indifferent, "That sounds fair, but staying in touch with the outside world must be a priority."

"We can have Toris help us with that much," Alfred nodded, "I think… we should all be each other's goals. We all escape together, no matter how injuried, no matter what happens. Even if one of us dies, we still bring them out with us. We all need to go home to our friends and family."

They all agreed to this plan quickly. It was comforting to have some kind of plan for their situation, though they still held serious fears for their young friend.

"What do you think they're doing to the boy?" Lovi asked quietly.

"I don't know," Roderich sighed, "But worrying will do nothing for him."

The Italian ran a hand over his face, "I know, but he's a kid."

"He's a kid with hundreds of other people worrying about him," Elizabeta rubbed his back.

Alfred chuckled, "Yeah, and Iggy has to count for, like, half of that. So don't worry. There isn't anything we can do for him anyway."

Lovino smiled sadly, "I hate this so much. We're so _helpless_ and there's nothing we can do about."

"We can hope," Elizabeta smiled, "And that's what's important."


	5. Parts 9, 10, and 11

… _Part 9: Support…._

_'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after._

_William Shakespeare_

… _._

England read the telegram again, "Is he positive?"

"Toris has hardly been wrong before," France sighed as he put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "We have no reason to doubt him."

"God, Sealand…" the Brit covered his face, "You couldn't have just stayed quiet?"

The Frenchman beside him hugged him awkwardly as he recognized the pain England felt, "Oh, Angleterre, you and I both must realize that your little micronation has his brother's stubbornness as well as his eyebrows."

England brushed him off, "Shut up, frog. I'm not in the mood."

"When are you in the mood?" France commented, almost as an afterthought. England elbowed him in the gut, though he really didn't argue otherwise, "Angleterre," France ruffled his friends hair, "You worry far too much. It pains me just as much as it does you. My petit lapin is in as much danger as your frérots are. Have faith, mon ami, if we don't trust Toris and our other friends, then they, as well as ourselves, are as good as dead. Whatever happens to Sealand, I have faith that our boys and the others can protect him. They will be fine."

England looked down at his hands, "I need to help them. But their out of my hands, and it's killing me."

France once again wrapped an arm around him, "Mon ami, they _are_ out of our hands, so there is nothing we can do for them except try to help them anyway we can," he squeezed the Brits arm, "That doesn't mean that you need to worry yourself sick over all of this."

"I want them back France," England closed his eyes as he broke away and stood up, "I want to bring both my boys home, I want them to tell their alive and well, I want Sealand to come home so that I can tell him he's a country just to see him smile, and I want to tell America I'm so sorry for all the shit I put him through. I want to show them that I care about them. I need them to know that I worry about them all the time."

"Angleterre," France sighed, simply standing with him. He didn't try to hug the Brit again, but he took him by the hand, "We're going to get through this. You'll get to do all of that, I promise you. If you cannot have faith in Toris, in yourself, in me; than have a little faith in America. He isn't stupid, as he'd like us to think he is. Our little Amerique is smart, he can protect your Sealand."

"And who's going to protect him?" England smiled ruefully, not looking at him, "He's the 'hero', America doesn't care if he gets out or not, he's going to make sure everyone else does."

France laughed slightly, "Well, he was raised British. Perhaps he is as much of an absolutely invincible English gentleman as his brother, non?"

England punched him in the gut, "Shut up, frog."

"Honhonhon~" France laughed, doubling over slightly, "Does this mean the annoying little Angleterre I call my friend is back?"

"I never left," Britian scoffed, walking out of the room. France followed him out.

They ended up sitting on the front porch of England's small house, looking out into downtown London.

The normally crowded city was quite with a looming presence hanging over it. Cars still zoomed pass roads as usual, but everything just seemed quieter than normal. It was the result of war that couldn't be helped, but city still boomed as usual.

"Your home is so…" France searched for the right word as he and England watched the lights go by, "Unusual."

"Keep calm and carry on," the Brit waved him off, closing his eyes.

France remained silent for a few minutes as a slight breeze blew past, "You know, Angleterre, I was think about something Toris said to me early."

"What?" England looked at him.

"Lithuania said he gave himself a human name because he was as much a prisoner as those in prison," the Frenchman mused, "It makes me think; we are just as much prisoners as our brothers. We have no say in our situation, and no way to change it."

"Huh," England laughed, sadly, "I think this war is messing with your mind, frog."

France blinked, "What?"

"You're starting to make sense, all of a sudden."

"You sound surprised mon ami," France sat down on the porch steps, "Regardless, what do you think of following Toris' idea."

"And why would I want to do that?" England raised an eyebrow.

He sighed and looked off into the distance, "I really don't know. I just… I think I just want a way to support mon petit lapin, even though he can't see me and I can't see him. As strange as it sounds, I just can't think of anything else to do for them."

"…how about Francis?"

"What?" France turned to the Brit confused.

"You wanted a name; at least Francis is an imaginable name."

The Frenchman rolled an eye, "But it's so _predictable,_ Angleterre. Is that all you can think of?"

"Why do you want my opinion so much?" England rolled his eyes.

"What fun is giving yourself a title?" 'Francis' said in a lofty voice, "I believe giving myself a title would be wrong, so if you believe Francis is my name, then that is my name, Angleterre."

England didn't know what to say, "I… Well, frog, what about me?"

"Oh?" Francis smiled, "You trust me enough with something like that? Very well… Perhaps Arthur. It seems like a common name from your home, non?"

'Arthur' glared, "Whatever."

Francis grinned and threw an arm around his friends shoulders, "Well then, Arthur, what next?"

"We need to get in contact with those inside," Arthur brushed hair out of his face, "We need to at least show them that we are doing something. We can have Toris get into contact with them, and he can convey our plans to them. Also, we need to regroup the Allies."

"Agreed," Francis leaned back, "We have most our old counter parts freed, with the obvious exception of our enemy. Also, I do believe the old Axis maybe willing to assist."

Arthur bit his lip and dug through his pockets. He brought out a scrap of paper and a blue pen, with which he jot down a small list of all their possible allies, with his and Francis' nations at the top, "I think we should contact China and Japan first. They're the most in danger, with the Asian invasion at its peak."

"I think you can handle explaining it to them, as you have stronger ties to Japan, and China is too paranoid to make a move without Japan," Francis reasoned.

"It feels a little wrong to take at vantage of him like that, but we have no choice," Arthur agreed, "We should wait till we have an established alliance set until we seek help from Germany and Italy. They have enough to worry about."

"I fear for Italy," France commented almost to himself, "His brother was captured, and he is under constant attack. He really hasn't had an attack like that since… Well, since we were children, and I was charging after him. He's probably scared out of his wits."

"He has Germany to protect him," Arthur hesitated before patting Francis' back, "That oaf won't let anything hurt him."

Francis laughed, "Anyway, after we get our forces back up, we can start to retake our land."

"And our boys," Arthur nodded. Francis took his hand as they sat.

"Oui," the Frenchman nodded, "And our boys."

_…Part 10: The Soldier's Contradiction…_

_War is so unjust and ugly that all who wage it must try to stifle the voice of conscience within themselves._

_Leo Tolstoy_

… _.._

The guard stood his post outside the door.

He was a large man; bulky, not much of a neck, thick fingers, bald head hidden by his uniform cap. The guard was a stereotypical thug, with education up to sixth grade, who only spoke his native tongue of Russian. Still, despite his below average intelligence, even he could tell the screams were young.

For the past two hours, the weak, high-pitched screams sounded from behind the door. He wasn't on watch when whoever was in there was taken in, but the guard that he relived looked a bit shaken, so he expected that it was a child the commander was torturing.

Commander Smirnov was a cruel man; even his own men knew that much. He had no pity, and he had no remorse. Smirnov didn't care about who he was hurting, so torturing a child was certainly not beyond his power. Whether his stern, evil nature towards others came from his loyalty to Russia, or if he really was insane.

The guard couldn't understand what the boy (he assumed it was a boy) was screaming, he was able to use the little English that he knew to realize he was probably screaming for his father or someone of the sort, as he kept sobbing out the same name.

No, the guard shook his head silently, as much as he knew from the English language, 'England' wasn't a name, and neither was 'America' or 'Canada'. But didn't his superiors say their prisoners were countries? So maybe the boy was calling out for А́нглия. If that was true, then the others had to be Аме́рика and Канада. That would make a bit of sense.

Either way, the screams were deafening. He could hear fist meeting flesh every time a scream sounded, which made another scream erupt, starting the whole process over again.

It was a little saddening to hear the cruelty of war in such a small voice, yet, the guard was not surprised. His father had been in the last World War, and his grandfather had been in the very first. It was a legacy of death, but all of them seemed to survive each time, so he had little fears. Still, the guard's father had warned him of the dangers that came with war, and he wanted to serve his country anyway.

"England!" the child screamed for his А́нглия over and over again.

Another punch sounded, "Be silent!"

The repeating cycle of screaming and punching continued on for hours, till morning came and went. It wasn't till noon tomorrow that the guard was to be relieved, so he choose to just put up with the sounds as he stood watch.

He himself didn't have kids, so he didn't know how to respond as Smirnov dragged the boy out of the room.

"You there!" the commander barked at him, shoving the bloody boy into his hands, "Take this down to the hold, and be none too gentle with him."

The guard did as told, and lifted the little child up, "Yes sir."

Despite orders, for some reason he just couldn't be rough with the child. He held the boy by his dirty blonde hair and moved hair from his eyes as they went.

The boy seemed to feel the slight gentleness, as he didn't struggle. His clothes were tattered apart, though still together, but he must have been freezing. As soon as they were out of sight going down the stairs, the guard unconsciously started to rest the child's head against his chest, just to test what it would feel like.

He soon felt soft sobs against him as the boy started to shake slightly. The guard didn't know what to do to make him stop, so he just moved faster down the stairs as he felt a sticky red substance on his uniform coming from the boy's back.

The guard reached the prison at the bottom of the stair way quickly. The man watching the door looked to him and the boy in his arms. He took the boy roughly from his fellows arms, and literally threw him inside.

"Forget about them, comrade," the other soldier told him, "They are not our concern, Comrade Smirnov will handle the others. The justice of Russia will prevail."

And the guard believed him.

… _Part 11: Pretending …_

_Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive._  
_Serj Tankian _

_..._

Peter hit the hard stone floor with a thud as the door closed again.

"Peter!" Elizabeta, motherly instinct guiding her, was the first to him, "What did they do?"

The boy remained still, the wind currently knocked out of him.

Lovino and Roderich quickly followed, the later holding their medical supplies, "Peter, where are you wounded?" Roderich pressed.

"B-Back…" the Sealander flinched.

It took a little longer, but the American twins managed to his side. Alfred kneeled beside him and gently eased him on to his side so that Roderich could see his back and he took his hand, "It's gonna be alright, little buddy," Alfred forced as convincing of a smile on his face as he could manage, "Roderich's gonna fix you up, just hold on."

Mathieu sat next to his brother quietly, using his good arm to gently pet the boy's slightly bloody hair in a comforting way, while Lovino sat by and watched sadly.

Meanwhile, Roderich bit his lip as he and Elizabeta cleaned Peter's wounds.

Thankful, there wasn't that many, but it looked like he had been whipped. Through a brief count, Elizabeta quietly mumbled to him that there was about four slashes across the Peter's back, not very deep, but surely painful. He had more bruises than anything, but Roderich couldn't do much for them except hope that they hadn't done any major damage.

Without a needle and thread on hand, he had to stem the bleeding with pressure alone. Roderich pressed hard against the wound, silently praying that the Lord wasn't too busy to save a little boy.

Peter screamed at the pressure on his back, tears falling from his face. He ached all over, his bones felt like lead, and his head felt heavy. Peter wanted to go home. Why wasn't he home? No one thought he was a nation, so why should he be here? He didn't care anymore about his nationhood, anymore. All he wanted was to go home, patch up the ol' fort, see England, and annoy the hell out of him (yes, even Peter admitted he was annoying, but he always meant well). But he wanted his big brother to lift him up onto his lap and tell him everything was going to be fine and that all this was a big nightmare. Peter knew his big brother could fix anything. He'd just hug him tight to squeeze the hurt away, and maybe kiss his forehead to chase off the headache and bad thoughts. He just wanted to go home.

"Peter!" Alfred called worriedly, "You need to stay awake, buddy."

"E-Eng…land?" he questioned, too tired to realize his mistake and his blurred vision not recognizing the difference between blondes.

The American bit his lip and looked to the others. Roderich shrugged as he finished staunching the bleeding and wrapping the cloth around him. Alfred took it as a 'He's a scared little boy, just pretend so he can sleep' kinda look. But, he gladly went along with it.

"It's alright now… poppet," Alfred soothed in his best British accent as he lift Peter gently in on to his lap, "No one is going to hurt you anymore."

Peter just latched on to Alfred, "S-Swear it?"

"I swear," Alfred smiled as one hand held the little nation by the back to him and the other was raised in a mocked vow, "On my rank as a most noble English gentleman that you will be safe, I swear it."

"Thank you…" Peter cried quietly as he lost consciousness.

The American gently pet the boy's hair and moved him to lay next to his side, "How much medicine do we have left?"

"That's what you're worried about, burger bastardo?" Lovino snapped, "It's because of your snide remarks that Peter nearly _died_ in the first place!"

"That is enough, Lovi!" Hungary growled.

Roderich sighed, "This isn't the time to blame one another. Either way, we don't have much left. I don't suspect Toris thought we'd be using it so much in a few days."

"So what happens if this happens again?" Mathieu pressed.

"It's can't Mathieu," Roderich shook his head, "So until we get into contact with Toris again, we need to save our supplies, and try to avoid… that."

Alfred's hand continued to pet Peter's hair through the whole conversation.

"Al," Matt questioned, "How in the world did you convince him you were England?"

America chuckled and motioned for his twin to sit next to him, "Hey, you still speak French like a pro, I guess I picked up more Brit talk from the man than I wanted to, the git."

"I guess you're right, mon ami," Matt laughed, letting the language of love remind him of much better days, "Get some sleep, brother, you've earned it."

Alfred smiled and leaned against the wall, "You?"

"I'm taking watch tonight," he addressed to everyone.

"You sure?" Lovi asked as he settled down.

The Canadian shrugged, "Now that the general pain has subsided, my arm's really uncomfortable. I'm never gonna get to sleep anyway."

"Alright than, goodnight," they said as all went to sleep.

Mathieu moved his good hand to his back once they were all asleep. His callused fingers went over the bandages, to where the burn on his skin was.

He moved from his own mark to where his twin bore the same symbol. Alfred was in pain, like he was, that much was clear to Matt. He wished he could be such a leader even in times like these, but he always was the quiet one. That has qualities of its own.

Mathieu sighed and brushed his brother's messy hair. With out their glasses, neither brother could see details, but Matt guessed they all looked like something the dog dragged in. He never really felt that he looked as handsome as his papa and others would call him, so it wasn't a worry to him. His brother, had always been the handsome one (who cared it they were identical, no one saw Mathieu, so they're had to be _something_ wrong with him). He wanted Alfred to be the same normal Alfred; movies star looks that he always wanted to improve.

It was scary to see him scared and sad. It couldn't be a good sign.

Mattie sighed a mouthed a brief 'heaven help us' before zoned out.


	6. Parts 12, 13, 14, and 15

… _.Part 12: Son…._

_I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection._

_Sigmund Freud_

….

_Peter buried his head deeper into his brother's chest, "I'm scared," he whispered._

" _You have no have no need to," England smiled as he stroked his hair, "I'm here, everything will be alright as long as I'm here."_

" _Don't leave me again," the little nation cried silently, "I don't wanna be alone."_

" _You aren't alone," the elder sighed, "The whole world wants you and everyone else to get out. You'll all be safe soon. I swear."_

_Peter buried his head between England's shoulder and neck, "It hurts so much."_

_England gently rubbed his hand ruefully on his ripped up back. He wished he could just scars away._

" _The pain will fade," the island nation responded after a while, "All wounds do, with time at least."_

" _I wanna go home, Iggy," England's hear clenched as the younger nation in his arms gripped his shirt, "I don't wanna be here anymore."_

_He bit his lip and leaned his head in the soft blonde hair, "Please just hold on. You and the twins and the others; please just hold on."_

_Peter cried a little harder, sobs wracking his body slightly. England made him come out of his shoulder and sit on his knee. The Brit sadly had one hand holding the smaller hand, while the other gently wiped away Peter's slowly forming tears, "You need to be strong, Peter. I need you to make sure America and Canada are okay. I need all my boys to come home. Can you do that for me?"_

" _I-I don't know…" Peter sobbed, looking down, "It's too hard…"_

" _I have faith in you, lad," England smiled, running a hand over his cheek to make the boy look up, "A nation can never lose hope."_

" _Nation?" Peter breathed, tears ceasing for a moment._

_England laughed, "Of course, just don't tell anyone I said so, alright?"_

_Peter didn't respond, instead he flung his arms around his brother and buried his face into his shirt, "I love you."_

" _I love you too, poppet. I'm going to bring you home," the Englishman smiled, kissing his hair, "You don't have to dream that part."_

Peter opened his tired eyes to find himself in sleeping American arms instead of British. He chose not to say anything, as everyone was asleep (he had a feeling that the Canadian beside them wasn't sleeping, but rather too caught up in his own thoughts to be truly considered awake).

The Sealander wondered if his big brother actually wanted him back. Was England really trying to rescue him? Did he even care? The Brit certainly had every right not to care and just leave him to die. He was just a pain in his side since the day he was built. His little fort never really benefited much to the other nation, nor did Peter offer anything beneficial to him, unlike all of his other brothers when they had been under British rule. America had vast lands and rich resources, Canada was filled with animals for fur and food, and the list went on and on. But little Sealand was just a little wannabe just off the coast of a once powerful empire.

Still, he held his hopes high that the man he had learned to see as a friend, brother, even a father of sorts, was looking for him. Not just the twins, _him_. He wanted to believe that someone was missing him, that he wasn't just someone who was captured with more important people.

Peter felt a few tears fall from his eyes, onto America. The liquid hitting his bare chest must have slightly woken him up, because the little nation felt hands gently petting his hair, almost like England did in his dream, and he heard a small whisper in his ear telling him to rest. Peter hesitantly did fall into a fitful sleep, trying to mentally imagine it was his big brother hugging him.

… _.Part 13: Father…_

_It is a wise father that knows his own child._

_William Shakespeare_

…

Meanwhile, in London, Arthur was pulling his tie tightly around his neck, hoping that Francis and his emergency G8 meeting of the remaining members might be able to draw in the power that they needed to save the others and end the war.

The Brit knew that most of the nations really wanted to do something; Russia's victims and his captives were there long time allies and friends, they wanted them to have freedom and vengeance as much as Arthur himself did. They all grieved the worlds loses, but they needed to remain realistic

They had their own fights. China, Japan, and the other Asian nations had to force Russia upward on a daily basis so that the largest country wouldn't seize anymore land (though at most their combined efforts did little more than hold back the growing presence). Italy was struggling to keep the forces in his occupied southern lands from taking over the rest of his country. Germany at the most part was trying to balance his weakened forces between his own defenses and his southern neighbor's impending takeover. And even Francis and Arthur were severely weakened by Russia.

He hoped that he could convince the others to join Francis and his alliance, so that they could bring home the captured prisoners, and end Russia once and for all. It was a shot in the dark, but maybe, if they played their cards right, they could manage. They needed to form some kind of deal, at all costs.

"Are you ready, Angleterre?" Francis interrupted his train of thoughts, "The others have all gathered, and we're waiting for you to begin, mon ami."

"I'm ready," Arthur sighed, turning from his mirror, "Do I look alright?"

"You look stuffy and uncomfortable," the Frenchman walked over to him and pulled his tie loose, "No one else bothered to be so formal, it's not necessary."

The nation of love showed that fact well. He wasn't in his normal bright and extravagant uniform, but in rather casual attire. The Frenchman wore plain jeans and a white t-shirt, as well as a simple suit top and black loafers.

Arthur, on the other hand, had dressed himself for a normal, formal meeting; full tan suit, white dress shirt, brown tie, and his best loafers, "I don't care," he said as he fixed the tie again, "I can at least try to _appear_ like my country isn't fall apart at the seams. You should take heed, they may be our friends in a way, but we have to make our side seem a bit more…"

"Attractive," Francis finished, patting his back, "I understand what you're saying, mon ami, but they _know_ we aren't doing any better than them, so what the point?"

" _They_ are the point," Arthur growled, "Everyone is the point. This isn't just stopping invasions anymore. It isn't like the other World Wars. Russia has seize _continents_ , not just countries. This isn't just a battle for the captured, this is for Africa. For Antarctica. For South America. And for the New World we dragged into our world so long ago. This is a battle for the whole _world_ , Francis. If me wearing a damn suit can even make them _lean_ towards our alliance, then by God, why am I the only one bothering?"

Francis smiled, "If you can talk to them like you do to me, then Russia is as good as dead."

"Let's just go," he rolled his eyes and left the room, "This isn't going to be easy."

"But," Francis smiled and followed, "A father will stop at nothing to save his sons, even if he must do so alone," he winked at the empty room, "Of course, I'm not going anywhere, non? Honhonhon~!"

… _.Part 14: Most Certainly Not Insane…._

" _There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."_

― _Oscar Levant_

… _..….._

Loud foot steps paced back and forth in rapid succession. They echoed threw the halls, as if screaming just how important their owner was.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid!"_ Russia growled to himself, "They can't gain anymore land, or they will never give in."

He really knew all that the world thought of him. A madman, they called him, nothing but an egotisical, psychotic, and _insane_ madman bent on world domination. Of course, Russia also was quite sure they were completely incorrect.

He had a plan that would benefit the whole world. He would make all of them one with him, take the heavy burden of nationhood off his old comrades. That's why he wanted them all to have human names, so they would be used to being as such. Russia was almost tempted to take such a name as well (he actually had been toying around with names in his free time. He found Ivan had a nice ring to it) but he always reminded himself that such petty passtimes were unfit for the future World.

Yes, he would free the other nations from there chains and let them have normal, happy lives (granted, he couldn't take away there immortality, and they'd have scars and injuries for the rest of time, but that was besides the point). As he would be the only remaining nation, his name would become irrelevant, and he would be the World. Once he had his new found position, he would first make sure to have the once nations in important roles in their homes. He knew they would never be comfortable completely outside of their countries government, and having immortal leaders in his future disticts would prove quite beneficial to him as long as they behaved (and, as an added bonus, he found just thinking of a certain over hyper blonde as a president to be rather amusing).

He just needed to capture them all.

Russia sighed and ran a hand over his hair. The others were being quite resistant to his forces, though they had to know it was a fruitless battle. He had been smart; as much as the hated to admit it, every time War was usually the same. Europe starts the fight and drags Asia in right behind them. They quickly engulf Africa unwillingly. And once European forces are exhausted, they would go and bring in the Americas, while Australia and Antarctica are just abnormally confused.

But Russia played the game backwards. He captured South America and Africa first, so as to weaken American trade and to take away one of their main war time powers; the Grand Canal. That kept America from concentrating his forces quickly, and his attacks would be slowed. Then, he started took the Baltics and his sisters, simply to distract everyone from his Bring-Down-America tactics, as well as his beginning attacks on Asia and his own Allies. They were rather angry with him on _that_ G8 meeting, but it was rather funny when they tried to kill him then and there. It gave him many happy smiles to think of their horrified faces.

But the best was when he finally took over North America. He started with Canada, simply because he could. Russia had thought that America might become enraged by a direct attack on his own land (look at what he did to Japan, Russia didn't want to be the second nation to ever have a nuke stuck in him), so he decided to use Canada's land against him. He felt strongly that America wouldn't shoot a nuke at his brother's home, even if he did, Canada would feel the pain, not Russia. So, Russia ended up taking over the northern twin and immediately charged into America. He was shocked by the strong-willed nations surrender, but he did feel happy to know the American had finally grown up through his many times in war (hundreds of years as a nation had little outward effect on the boy who appeared only nineteen).

The surprisingly easy conquest of North America seemed to be the last straw for the world, but it was much too late. Russia felt confident enough that even all the nations in an alliance couldn't stop him and his people. Russia hadn't expect them to evacuate the personifactions, but it didn't matter anyway. He did have some of them, and he, again, _he had North America!_ Just that conquest was enough to even make the British lose their calm.

Once the world was one with him, he would allow the nations to reunited, then they'd be put to work. Everything would be united and wars would end. No more bloodshed, no more famine, no more crime, no more pain, no more hate. Russia would make a perfect world. No strings attached, no gimmicks; just a utopia for the world to enjoy. Eveyone would be happy eventually. Eventually.

"M-Mr. Russia?" Lithuania walked into the room, "A-Are you alright?"

Good old Lithuania, never changing Lithuania, "Da, I am fine," Russia hesitated for a moment, "Lithuania, may I ask you something?"

"Da?" Lithuania asked.

"Do you think I'm insane?" Lithuania stepped back as Russia smiled eerily.

"I-I-I…" he stuttered, "I-I don't think so…"

Russia turned, ignoring the major hesitation in his voice, "I thought you wouldn't, because I am not insane," his smile grew, "I am most _definitely_ not insane."

_...Part 15: No….._

_To apologize is to lay the foundation for a future offense._

_Ambrose Bierce_

… _._

Germany was quite hesitant when England and France came into the meeting room.

He didn't really want to go at first, but it was Italy who made him go.

"We need to at hear them out, si?" the once chipper voice that had recently become so tired and strained echoed in his mind, "And they want to save Mr. Austria and Miss Hungary! And my brother…"

If it wasn't for the fact that Russia had Italy's brother, Germany doubted he would even be here. Still, he did know Austria quite well, and it was hard to picture the sophisticated, calm gentleman in a prison cell at the mercy of a madman, and Germany honestly didn't want to picture it.

Regardless, Germany didn't really know what to think of the war. As much as he hated to admit it, when it came to World Wars, he usually lost. Maybe he was too cocky, maybe he just had horrible luck. Either way, Germany really didn't want to be involved in another war, especially against Russia.

On the other hand, he knew what the fast rise of power could do to a nation. It made them greedy, and they felt invincible, which made them make stupid mistakes. He had a strong feeling Russia would slip up, but even combined the world was still too weak to stop their enemy's invasions. They had little chance.

"Good evening, chaps," England interrupted his thoughts as the Brit sat down, "I believe you all know why we asked you all here, so I will skip the formalities and just cut to the chase; You've all seen the video, I take it."

Everyone nodded, except for Italy, who tilted his head in confusion, "What video?"

German mentally face palmed as he saw England stiffen a little, "Italy was under invasion when we were sent the messages, and he's been without power since.

"Sorry," Italy shrugged as he finally caught the hint, for once.

"It's quite alright," England broke out of his shock, "I supposed we should show him…"

"Non, Angleterre," France interrupted, remembering his friend's first reaction to the video of the twins branding, "Germany, I trust that you can show it to him afterward?"

"Of course," he immediately responded.

The Brit nodded to no one in particular, "Thank you," he shook a little as he pulled out a few papers from a bag on the table, "Regardless, I'm sure you know, Italy, of the current situation regarding Russia."

The Italian nodded.

England dropped a small manila folder on the table in front of his fellow nations, "This folder contains the total death count approximated for France, myself, and any others we have fought with since the beginning of this war. As you will see, just ours is more than the total European death count for the last World War, and this number doesn't even count in your battles, or losses in Africa, Asia, or the Americas."

"This is tragdic and all," China put down the papers, "But what can we do? We aren't any stronger than you are, aru."

"We realize this, mon ami," France stopped him, "But we have estimated that if we work together, our combined forces will be even larger than Russia's."

"Is that so?" Prussia interrupted, "By what? A thousand? Ten? That isn't enough to win a war."

"But it's a better chance than we have now," England insisted, "On our own, we don't stand a chance."

"Since when do we ever work well together, aru?" China mentioned with a shrug.

France sighed, "If you remember China, we normally do win."

"Yes, but without America-san, do we really stand a chance, aru?"

"We have too, Japan," England turned and didn't look at them, "Is that what we did before Spain decided the earth was round? No, we powered on. We're bloody Eurasia! We can't rely on the people we dragged into our wars in the first place."

"I was not hear at that time," Japan was unfazed, "But I do understand what you are saying. Chivalry, honor, defending the weak. But that was then, Britian, and this is now. I realize that you want to save your brothers but-"

"The boys have nothing to do with this," England pressed, "This is a world crisis, not just mine."

"We are well aware of that," German put a hand on his chin, "But we are in no shape to form a crazy plan to stop all this chaos, alliance or not. I am out."

"As is the awesome me," Prussia stood.

"I cannot fight, I am out as well," Japan bowed.

"I am very sorry, aru," China patted the Brit's shoulder, "I can't take the risk."

"I…" Italy frowned, "I want to help you Mr. England, but I… just can't. I'm too weak at this point…" he shook his head as he stood, "But wait a little while, I'm sure in a little while, I'll be even more angry with Russia and I won't even hesitate!"

England smiled sadly, "Thank you, Italy. That means a lot to me. But I'm angry enough, so I can't wait anymore."

"He tired," France commented, watching the Englishman leave, "You haven't been up to date with world events recently, so I will tell you before Germany shows you the video," he shocked the nations by copying the other man's tired smiled, "Russia has our boys. He took the twins away from us. And even little Sealand. Russia took our little brothers; we are quite angry, and quite tired. We aren't ready to wait."

"France-"

"Francis," he corrected, "Russia's stripping the nations he captures of their identities. We are just as captured as they are, so we've done the same. I am now Francis, he is now Arthur. Two completely different people, who are not nations," he blew a kiss before he left, "It is a good feeling to be free of

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm Danelle Septhon, author of this old old old fanfiction and very embarrassed to be here.
> 
> I wrote this sometime in 2013, worked on it till 2014, and officially gave up on it in 2015. Now, its 2016, and I need to reach another benchmark in my procrastination. Honestly, a lot of what was written in this I would consider below par for something I would do today, but I know a lot of people really enjoyed it on FanFiction and I want to have at least one story on my profile so... yeah. I have no other excuse. 
> 
> I enjoyed working on this story when I did, but I'm sadly not really in the Hetalia fandom any more. I doubt I would consider finishing it as I've been working on an original work for a while that has been eating up all my time, but if I get enough good feedback here, I might dive back in. I was very close to finishing the fanfic with where I left off, so it wouldn't be too hard to do if I had enough request. I don't know, but for now I hope you enjoy what I have completed.
> 
> For those of you new to WAFD, I wrote in a serial format with two completed acts and one unfinished. Each installment was posted as a chapter with one or more parts per update. For this edition of WAFD, I've gone back and re-edited some parts for grammar, spelling, and other things, but not a whole lot. All in all though, this is an unabridged version from the original. I will be condensing parts of Act 3 since I did not combine some parts and the chapters are all over the place. I will be posting this is random spurts depending on demand.
> 
> So, without further ado, the resurrected We All Fall Down.


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